— So, how's he doing?
— He's tired. His body just gave him one hell of a warning.
— After what he's been through, it's not surprising.
— He's going to turn in his term of office and not run again.
The red wine flows into the stemmed glass.
Theophilus is in his room upstairs, on his phone. The little one's already asleep.
— Thank you, honey.
— Are you gonna be okay?
— Yes... I can't be sad anymore...
She frowns and her eyebrow begins to form a brief "V".
She's raising her bid.
— Maybe that's a good sign.
— You thought about it for years, you hoped he'd walk through that door someday, I can't understand you, I've already told you. But then time heals, and it starts to repair you.
Claire squeezes herself a drink, and drinks it like she's building up her courage.
She looks at the floor, then at the ceiling, scrutinizing her visual memory.
— He promised he'd call me back. When I got in the ambulance after the robbery, he sounded... So tired, so pale. He looked at me like it was the last time. Do you think he knew that? Do we know when we're gonna die? He made me promise to take care of myself, very solemn. That wasn't like him. He didn't give me his little smile... That he did when he was embarrassed. And then he didn't give any more news, until we found his car embedded and burnt on the edge of the ring road, with Dominique...
Benedict approaches, strokes his forehead, and pulls up his brown fringe.
Claire lets herself go and plunges her head into his chest. Her smell is what she first liked about Benedict. With him, she felt safe. She didn't like him right away, but she couldn't live without him anymore.
— Thank you for telling me all this... I don't know how you put up with me all these years.
— I already told you Claire, you're the greatest story that ever happened to me.
— Liar, I know you're lying, I can hear your heart.
— Then listen to him again...
Claire pulls herself together and gets her smile back. She throws him a conquering air.
— Let's drink!
Claire retires a glass, and matches Benedict's, who has barely touched his own.
— Erwan gave everything for the Republic: EVERYTHING! And look where it stands: five years of revolt, on the brink of civil war.
— Honey, are you sure you want to talk politics?
— ... Yes, let's talk politics, it's been a long time, I miss it.
— I'm not very good at it, you know... I'm more of a vision kind of guy.
— That's exactly what politicians need. What do you think of Raphaëlle Bertier's candidacy? Do you think she has a chance?
— Yes, she is pushed from the streets, comes from civil society, has had the intelligence to stay away from the most radicals. She represents all those who want a 6th Republic. She is a credible alternative to Michelle Desrivières who claims the solidity of the institutions of the Fifth...
— I'm too much of an influence on you. Michelle was hated, and now everyone loves her. She's brought calm to the whole country.
— Michèle has never compromised, that's what pleases me. I admit she seduced me too. Can you imagine the pressure she had to endure? To find herself Acting President, losing two statesmen in the process, it's unheard of!
— Benedict, she didn't give back the power, didn't want to organize elections for five years! Yes, you said that, it's unheard of! Even Russia sent observers to find out if we hadn't fallen into dictatorship... No, I'm dreaming!
— Claire, calm down, but you know what she's been through...
— ... Yes, we can say that the attack on Republic Square came just at the right time: one month after the revelation of the assassination of the Prime Minister in his Falcon. When they found out it was a far-right group... that was behind both.
— There's clearly a before and after. That's for sure. It was illegitimate for a lot of people, especially on the left. Even in her own camp, by the way. Do you realize, being at the head of a country like France, without having been elected by universal suffrage, having to take enormous decisions, being head of the armies, facing a revolt, then an insurrection, and finally the attack?
— You make it sound like you're on his side.
— No, I'm just trying to understand her, even though I don't approve of her choices at all.
Claire gets a refill on her favorite wine and picks the cashews.
— Bertier is the woman who had a huge petition signed demanding that elections be held for a Constituent. Finally, she ran for the Presidency of the Republic on the ashes of the left-wing parties.
— That the backbone of the Fifth Republic is still strong...
— Erwan would have loved to live all this ... excuse me ... Well, it comes out, finally ...
Claire can't hold back her tears.
With a precise, circular and gentle gesture, Benedict wipes his tears with his thumb.
— I can't forget his face when I got in the ambulance after the robbery, he was so... pale.
— No one's asking to forget him, no one.
Claire bursts out in tears, Benedict takes the glass from her and delicately places it on its side. He embraces her. They kiss.
— Take me with you.
— Where to?
— Up there.
Claire got dressed, took out her black lace-up pumps, and waited in the car, putting on a coat of purple lipstick. The sun visor slams, Benedict's footsteps tread the gravel and the night. He walks towards the car like a ghost, and settles down.
— It's all right, I've told Theophilus... it's a good thing I hardly drank at all.
Claire pauses, staring at him greedily.
— All right, let's go. I'm still thirsty.
— Don't forget your I.D. I don't want to get arrested because of curfew.
— Shhh... don't be too serious... don't worry...
Benedict opens his mouth, but Claire puts her index finger on his lips.
— Right now. Quiet. Quiet.
Chapter 4
The sedan drives silently on the winding, narrow roads, barely lit, that lead to the village of Saint-Jeannet, just below the baou.
Claire doesn't say anything, it's an adult game between them, their intimacy. It's the first time she felt like playing it tonight.
Benedict can't help smiling. He can already guess what awaits him. He's waited years for his scar to heal. This silent and complicit moment is a powerful signal sent to his lower body. As the car climbs, the sexual tension increases, running through their whole being. Claire starts to laugh, nervously.
Benedict parks in the deserted parking lot of the sleepy village overlooking the Côte d'Azur.
She's barefoot and holds her pumps in her hands. In the trunk, she opens the gym bag and pulls out a pair of sneakers, which she puts on energetically.
— Ready?
— Take the bag, I'll go first.
Benedict executes himself, he lets her get a bit ahead and watches her, dressed in her little black dress, silently climb the steps of the perched village. Arriving at the very top, Claire takes a steep path that overlooks the houses, and the dormant roofs. In the distance, the white circle of the moon is reflected on the dark line of the horizon. The path is only illuminated by the nocturnal star. Claire knows the path by heart, she could do it blindfolded. Yet the excitement of the unknown always prevails, the shadows of the groves watch like ghosts and open the road which widens a little. The couple stops to admire the Château de la Gaude, planted a little further down, and the view into the valley. The path continues through wilder and more sinuous vegetation. Sometimes it is necessary to bend down to move forward.
After a quarter of an hour's walk, the summit appears on the horizon. It is a divine promontory, of rocks at right angles, which overhangs the void. You still have to make your way through the sharp rocks, but the reward
is at this price. Fingers lean against each other so as not to stumble, touching the landscape, when suddenly the view is completely clear.
One minute in eternity.
The couple has just arrived on the deserted and nocturnal plateau with a total east-west view of the surroundings. In the north, the blue mountains coloured by the moon, in the south the sea sparkles with gold.
The show is endless.
Claire's coming for Benedict's hand. They move slowly and carefully towards the promontory.
The stone is perfectly flat and still warm. Below their feet, the village of Saint-Jeannet appears tiny, like a model. The fall would be dizzying. The light fresh breeze makes Claire's dress waltz.
Benedict comes to embrace her, kissing her on her naked shoulder. He would take her there, right now, but she pushes him away and sits down.
The two black figures are facing each other. Claire raises her head and puts both hands back. She raises her foot, which she gently places on Benedict's crotch.
— Wait, take this off first.
Benedict takes a knee on the ground, just a few centimetres from the void. He does so, and relaxes his now barefoot companion's sneakers and grabs the black pumps instead. Claire bends her knee enough to show him that she is wearing nothing under her dress. Benedict would like to devour her, but she offers him her hand. Benedict helps her to get up. Claire is a little taller than him now, she takes his hand and puts it under the silky black cloth. He feels the fresh curve of her free, firm, bouncy buttocks.
She's kissing him on the lips.
— Are you scared?
— Falling down? Yeah, a little...
— We've never been so close... But it doesn't seem to scare you either...
She just put her hand over her hardened limb under her pants. With dexterity, she undoes her belt and fetches it, it's hers. He tries to open the small side zipper of her black dress that separates him from her breast, clumsily finds the opening and plunges his warm hand into it. The tips of her breasts are hard and soft, she's not wearing a bra either. Suddenly, Claire puts one knee on the ground, then both, and takes the limb in her mouth. The weather is delicious, Benedict can feel the fresh wind on his penis. All he can see now is his greedy eyes licking his acorn in a slow wedding dance.
It's long, slow, and hot.
After several minutes, Claire speeds up the pace, she holds him. He's hers, totally at her mercy.
— You want to end up in my mouth?
He can barely speak.
— Yes, yes I do, please, it's too good.
— So... come on...
She speeds up the movement of her hand again and places her glans on her tongue.
Benedict enjoys all his strength, Claire makes the offering flow on his chin.
— Oh, my God. Oh, my God. Oh, my God.
— Leave it where it is, will you? she said, wiping herself with a handkerchief.
Benedict is shaking all over, he is padding himself and sits down next to her to kiss her tenderly, again and again.
On the horizon, the Black Sea sleeps.
Claire crosses and uncrosses her legs, she waits her turn, pressed by the tickling of her wet lips. Benedict devours her with his eyes, the two bodies are sitting on the hot stone. She can't take it anymore, she raises her hand and caresses her leg, then goes back up, she doesn't let go of Benedict's eyes, then closes them while caressing her breasts.
She puts her hand between her legs again and caresses herself, opens her bright eyes, smiles... pinches her lips, and moans. Benedict is ready again.
Suddenly, from the far end of the valley, an alarm sounds. Then the alarm spreads like wildfire along the entire coast, from village to village, from town to town. The whole French Riviera wakes up.
— What's going on?
— I don't understand, it hasn't rung for months, it's probably a stroke!
Chapter 5
At 1.15 a.m., France Inter announces an attack at the home of the Prefect of the Alpes-Maritimes. The explosion blew up the house. The five children are dead, as well as his wife, but the Prefect, seriously injured, is still alive.
Benedict turns off the car radio.
— So this is never going to end!
— Come, come close to me, harder.
The huddled couple bursts into tears, without another word.
The next day, after a hectic night, Benedict left early for work, knowing it would take him two hours to get back to his office. The children haven't been going to school for a long time. It is Claire who takes care exclusively of their education.
Claire, puts on a T-shirt that's too wide and pours herself a cup of coffee, the smell wakes her up a little from her torpor. The children didn't hear the alarms, and don't know there was an attack last night. What's the point of forcing it on them again?
Theophilus pretends, he heard everything, but doesn't speak. He's as angry as Claire, but in any case, there's nothing to do but wait for the storm to pass. Over and over again.
Suddenly, the doorbell rang. Before the uprising broke out, it rang every day, tourists who rented the outbuilding came to have breakfast with their families. Those who arrived a week ago didn't show their faces. They're not very talkative. They probably want to shorten their stay. That's the wife of the vacationing couple introducing Claire. She has a problem with the hot water.
Claire puts on a long-sleeved sweater and crosses the poorly maintained garden to reach the small studio they had converted into a Bed & Breakfast. Suddenly, Claire freezes. She faces a man who has no intention of talking to her about hot water.
She can read faces.
Yet the man wants to be reassuring.
— We're here for your sake, for the lives of your children, your new husband and... Erwan.
Claire, not holding her legs, sits on the bed. She is shaking all over.
— You've been watching me for a week at my house...
The woman brings him a glass of water, which she pushes back in spite of her dry throat. Intuitively, Claire guesses that her world as she knew it has just collapsed, at least the one she took so long to accept.
The man goes on:
— You're a smart woman, you knew that.
— Who are you?
The man seeks approval in the eyes of his colleague. She nods her head.
— We're French secret service, the old one. We're here to continue your husband Erwan's fight.
— How do you know about Erwan?
— He sent us.
— What the hell is this crap? And I'm supposed to believe you?
— Look at this.
The woman hands him a tablet: it's Erwan, with a beard, but it's him, he's on a chair, calm, and no longer wearing glasses. He's talking to the camera.
— Claire, I'm not talking under duress, and first I want to apologize for putting you through all this. I'm not in France. I was exfiltrated by a group of dissident agents when Prime Minister Tordoli died. They faked my death to protect you and our little one. I've had many photos, films, I know you live happily with Benedict. And... I can't blame you, I was dead. I'm not asking you to come back to me, I know it's too difficult. But for our child's future, Lana, you have to fight for it. France needs you, your talents, you've always had ideals, and I know that. Don't forget who you were. You were a brilliant student at Sciences Po, then a brilliant professor, you wanted to change everything, you were idealistic, that's why I fell in love with you...
Erwan bursts into tears, then picks himself up.
— I'm sorry... You see it, you feared it, the world has become so dangerous that it can descend into chaos overnight. Our allies are of no help to us without interference. I'm asking you to believe me, we need you. Michèle Desrivières is going to run for election. She may win, she who already has all the power, will no longer give it back. She will use Article 16 of the Constitution ...3 for life, and that will be the end of it for what little democracy we have left. This is the woman who hurt us. Claire, this is
the woman who killed the President! The world needs to know that, Claire! And I want to see you again. I'm told I don't have time anymore. Look, I love you. I've never stopped loving you. I want to see you again, but you have to trust the people who risked their lives to bring you this message. Listen to them, I beg of you.
Video's cutting.
Claire's in shock. Breathless, apneic.
The woman hands him the glass of water again and drinks it in one gulp.
— Again!
— You have to help us.
— How? And I'm going to leave Benedict here? My life is here! This one is... dead! Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!
— If you don't do it for Erwan, do it for Benedict and your children, that's what I was saying.
— So... (Sighs) What's it gonna be?
— You must find evidence of Michèle Desrivières' guilt and have her prosecuted for High Treason.
— Are you nuts? That's all?!
— Yes, only you are above suspicion, you left at the right time, everyone is corrupt in Paris. And your uncle can serve as a stepping stone.
— I haven't seen him in years. He's an asshole.
— Exactly, it's time to go see him and make up. He wants to help us.
— But... how the fuck?! How about you?
— Because we're on file, or considered dead, just like your ex-husband.
— What do I have to do?
— Get as close as you can to Michèle.
— This is crazy!
— You're our only hope.
— No, no, I don't want to!
The spy suddenly gets carried away.
— Then we'll be misinformed, come on, let's not stay here, we've wasted enough time! That's why the country's gone to shit, it's always up to others to do it, isn't it? And to protect what? Your quiet little life away from everything, your private garden held at arm's length by your new husband and your special permits to circulate? When are you going to wake up? When everyone goes to jail for not thinking like that dirty whore Michèle Desrivières?
The Last President- The Complete Trilogy Page 7
